I’ve got a bit of a confession to make – I never used to think much of kids. It’s not like I didn’t like them, just that I was indifferent to them. When people cooed over someone’s baby, I merely shrugged my shoulders and allowed for only a noncommittal grunt when one mentioned that the baby was cute. I mean, it’s just a baby people! Everyone was a baby. I used to be a baby myself. It’s not really a big deal, y’know? I accepted the fact that I’m not much of a baby/little kid kind of person. But then that all changed when my sister had a baby boy.
I remember seeing Raza in the hospital for the first time and being in awe of the fact that the little baby I was looking at was my nephew. By the second day, I had finally mustered up the courage to hold him in my arms, where he promptly fell asleep. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.
Things are different now. I am no longer stoic when it comes to babies and kids. I coo with the rest of them. I ask about other people’s babies and what were their first words? When did they start crawling? I once had an entire conversation with coworkers about the merits of cloth versus disposable diapers. This type of information is both interesting and relevant to me folks.
My older sister just had her third kid last week, upping my nephew and niece total to four(!). I’m incredibly blessed to be an aunt to these four incredibly cute (Masha’Allah) kids. That, and it’s also comforting to know that I, in fact, do have a heart :)